


September 2018

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 challenge: 2018 [9]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 16,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 ficlets for the month of September.





	1. Two-Hundred Forty-Four: Shipwrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared wakes abruptly, and he wakes to the feeling of seawater forcing its way up out of his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More siren!Jensen.

Jared wakes abruptly, and he wakes to the feeling of seawater forcing its way up out of his lungs. He’s coughing violently before he can even open his eyes, and he rolls into his side, vaguely aware of the sand beneath his body as he expels the water from his lungs and fights for the ability to breathe again.

Only once he manages to suck in a few lungfuls of air is he more able to take in his surroundings. The rough grains of sand are familiar enough, and as he forces his eyes open, he’s met with the sight of the open ocean, stretching out before him. In the far distance, barely visible on the horizon- a ship. A ship he recognizes.

Everything comes back quickly after that.

His legs don’t quite support him enough to stand, and Jared just ends up stumbling back to his hands and knees. He’s got half a mind to take to the water, convinced he’ll be able to swim his way back to his crew, but he’s no fool, and it would be suicide to face these waters on his own.

“Lost, sailor?”

Except that’s when he remembers that he isn’t alone. Not exactly.

The voice doesn’t sound quite the same without the hint of song, but there’s still an enchanting quality to it that has Jared turning his head, eyes round as the moon. Before him, settled atop a rock on the beach is its source: a young man, scarcely clothed, fair-skinned, with plush lips and big eyes and a faint smile.

He seems to shimmer as Jared looks at him, and there’s a word on the tip of Jared’s tongue that means not-quite-human, but all he can think about is the beauty before him and how desperately he needs to get closer.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The smile turns more playful as the man stands, his movement seamless and smooth. Jared can’t stop staring, every part of him fixated on how the sunshine makes this stranger glow. Between one blink and the next, he’s close enough to touch, and Jared can’t breathe when a hand lifts to brush silk-soft fingertips against his cheek. He’s frozen, captivated. The man’s smile grows.

“Oh, you’re going to be fun. I can tell.”

Everything gets blurry at once, and Jared can’t stop his eyes from slipped shut. None of it seems to matter, and he passes out with a smile on his face.

At least if he dies here, it will be in the presence of such a perfect beauty. The fields of Elysium could never compare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. Two-Hundred Forty-Five: Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean keeps his hands cupped to his chest, careful as he picks his way back towards the motel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds a tiny friend.

Dean keeps his hands cupped to his chest, careful as he picks his way back towards the motel. He’s kind of freaking out, and he isn’t thinking straight, but he’d seen the thing on a walk out by the forest’s edge and he couldn’t have just led it there-

“Hold on,” he mumbles, and he’s at the door to his room, thank god, and it’s hard to wrestle the thing open when his hands are occupied, but he manages. Inside, it’s just a little easier to breathe, right up until he hears a tiny sound from between his fingers and feels a little bit of movement.

Shit. Why did he even-

He carefully opens his palms to take a better look, making soothing sounds as he heads to the kitchen counter. In his hands is a small bird, curled up as tight as it’s able and trembling slightly, watching him with big, suspicious eyes.

Its wing is bent in a way it shouldn’t be, and Dean swallows hard.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he says quietly, and when the bird tries to move again, he shushes it gently. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

He doesn’t know where to even begin to fix this, but he’s gotten himself this far and he can’t bail now. He doesn’t have anybody here to help him, and neither of the two people he could think to ask will pick up the phone for him, so he needs to figure it out on his own.

A tiny chirp from his palms, and Dean breathes out slow, petting a gentle thumb down the bird’s uninjured side.

“I’ll help you, little guy. It’s okay.”

Time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Two-Hundred Forty-Six: Witchcraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Easy, Samuel. Gently, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rowena and Sam and nice things.

“Easy, Samuel. Gently, now.”

The hand that taps his is a correction, but not a harsh one. Sam furrows his brow and concentrates once more on what he’s doing; learning to juggle the incantations with the gestures and the particular mix of ingredients to be used has been a struggle, but a rewarding one. He’s getting better by the day, and with his improvement comes more and more yet to be learned. An endless fountain of knowledge, and he’s only taken his first sips.

It helps, of course, that he has such a good teacher.

Rowena watches him with a critical eye, helping him along without holding his hand. She can be harsh- he’s seen it with his own eyes- but in this, she is patient. Perhaps eager to have a student after so many years of being shamed for her craft. After proving such a worthy ally, Sam had started questioning her more about her work, and- well. Here they are.

Sam tries the spell once more, careful and precise in his pronunciation of the old tongue, and this time, when he flicks his wrist and drops in the bit of mistletoe- the mixture before him glows vibrant and bright, and he grins, watching as it smooths out into the opaque mixture that he’s been promised.

Beside him, Rowena’s smile matches his own. “Much better,” she hums, stretching up on her toes to peek into the bowl. “We might make a witch out of you, yet.”

Sam laughs, and he’s sheepish, but he’s proud, too. Even Dean, after some initial griping and grumbling, had admitted that this could be useful, and Sam’s embraces the lessons with open arms. “I wouldn’t have made it this far alone, you know.”

Her smile turns mischievous. “Oh, don’t worry. I know that. And I don’t intend on going anywhere, dear. Not for a while.”

With that, they’re back to work, and Rowena shows him how to bottle his mixture for later use. He may never need to poison a werewolf such that it turns into a cat on the full moon, but who’s to say for sure? No sense in letting it go to waste, and it might be a good laugh somewhere down the road.

He might as well have fun with this while he’s got the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. Two-Hundred Forty-Seven: Caretaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean feels like a little kid, fixing up an old shoe box with scraps of fabric and newspaper to try to make it comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Dean and his little bird.

Dean feels like a little kid, fixing up an old shoe box with scraps of fabric and newspaper to try to make it comfortable. He’s got his brow furrowed in concentration, and it’s only when his tiny companion makes a sound that he looks up from his work, concerned.

He’s managed to get the bird to calm down, if absolutely nothing else. It seems to trust him more now that he’s given it some little pieces of fruit to eat (possibly the most stressful grocery trip he’s ever taken in his life), and it sits mostly quiet by his side while he tries to prepare a little home for it. Its wing still doesn’t look right, and Dean’s been debating what to do about that. He’s not sure if he trusts himself to figure out how to help on his own, or if maybe it would just be better to go to a vet.

“What’s up, little guy?” he asks softly. He’s over feeling silly about it; there’s nobody here to see him and he likes to think that he’s comforting the bird, too. Even if the thing can’t exactly talk back. “What’s wrong?”

The bird blinks up at him, then shuffles a little closer. It still seems like it can move okay on its feet, which is promising, and it shuffles towards Dean’s box. Dean watches it, curious. “Making you a house. Or a bed, maybe. Something like that.”

To no surprise, the bird doesn’t respond. It does move right up to the box, though, and starts inspecting it, so Dean gets his hands out of the way and just watches. After a moment of careful assessment, the bird hops right into the little nest of cloth and goes about making itself comfortable.

Dean tries not to be overwhelmed by the warmth that swells in his chest.

After taking a moment to settle himself and swallow it down, he very carefully lifts the box and brings it to the bedside table. It’s getting late, and it’s only now that he looks out the window that he realizes the sun has gone down. Even if he does decide to go to a vet, it won’t be an option tonight. He’s better off just getting some rest, so he takes a moment to get himself settled before crawling into bed, flicking off the lights on his way.

Beside him, he hears a small amount of shuffling as his new friend gets comfy. It’s kind of familiar, and he decides he enjoys the company.

“I should name you,” he mumbles, but his eyes are already closed and sleep is pulling him under quickly.

Just another little thing to worry about in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Two-Hundred Forty-Eight: Kissing Booth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Next in line, step right up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched a dumb romcom and this is the result.

“Next in line, step right up!”

Jared grins at the girl who steps forward, looking shy but excited. There’s still a sizeable line behind her, and he figures they’ll be here for a while, yet. His shift is over in fifteen minutes, and he intends to make the most of it.

It’s supposed to be a fundraiser for the football team- with all of its members taking part- but Jared thinks the kissing booth is pretty much just a poorly-disguised shortcut for some of the guys to get some action. He’s already gotten his fair share of teasing for volunteering to help out, but it’s a fun way to spend the afternoon at the school fair and it’s for a good cause, so why not?

Plus, it’s fun to see the looks on girls’ faces when they walk away. He takes a lot of pride in leaving them happy.

He recognizes this girl from one of his classes, and she smiles more confidently at him after dropping her five dollars in the little basket. Wasting no time, Jared leans in and meets her halfway, closing his eyes and taking his damn time. It’s a service she’s paid for, and there’s no sense in shortchanging her for it.

A few second (and a few cat-calls) later, the two of them break apart, and Jared’s left with another smile on his face. “Thanks for your donation,” he says brightly, and the girl gives him a dazed smile before shuffling out of the way. Jared quietly pats himself on the back.

He’s abruptly pulled from his little self-congratulations when he sees who’s next in line.

Of course he knows Jensen Ackles. It’s hard not to; the guy might keep to himself a little bit, but he’s easy to pick out in a crowd. Drop-dead gorgeous, for starters. That’s more than enough to get most anyone’s attention, and it’s certain what gets Jared’s eyes widening to the size of dinner plates before he gets some measure of control over himself.

Jared doesn’t seem to be the only one confused, either. It’s not completely unheard of for guys to line up, but most of them do it on a dare. Jensen doesn’t seem like that type of guy. It leaves Jared a little flabbergasted.

“Hi.” Jensen’s the one to break the silence between them, and when he smiles, Jared feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Has he ever spoken to Jensen face-to-face before? It’s distracting. “Five bucks, right?”

Jared’s just barely got the presence of mind to nod as he struggles to gather himself. “Um- yeah. That’s right.”

“Good.” Jensen nods to himself and drops a few coins in the basket. Right. This is really happening, isn’t it? “So we just-?”

“Yeah.” Jared tries to get himself together. He’s got a job to do, though it’s suddenly difficult not to feel all the eyes on him. “Here, I’ll just- um-”

He’s overthinking every piece of this, but when he lifts his hand to cup Jensen’s cheek- yeah, this feels right. Jensen seems to think he’s doing okay, too, because he starts to lean in, and Jared mirrors him, and god, Jensen’s lips look so soft-

They feel soft, too, as it turns out. Jared thinks he might melt on the spot, the world fading away for a few precious seconds as they kiss. And he forgets why they’re here, and he stops asking so many questions, and he just lets himself feel, and it’s so-

It’s over too quickly, and when Jensen starts to pull away, Jared tries to follow him. He quickly corrects himself and pulls back, but he’s pretty sure he’s gone pink. Isn’t he supposed to say something. “I- um- thank you for your lips.” Not quite. “Your- your donation! Thank you. For the donation.”

Yeah. He’s definitely blushing. Jensen doesn’t seem to mind, because he’s a little pink in the cheeks, too, but he’s smiling, something pleased and secretive that makes Jensen want to follow him away. “You’re welcome, Jared. See you around.”

And with that, he walks away, leaving Jared to spent the next fourteen minutes of his shift thinking about the way Jensen says his name.

This could be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Two-Hundred Forty-Nine: Bleachers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dumb high school AU.

It’s been three days. Three days since the incident at the kissing booth, and Jared’s lips still feel like they’re tingling with the phantom sensation of Jensen’s pressed against them. They haven’t spoken since- haven’t really seen each other, though Jared’s been keeping an eye out- but today is one of the few classes they’ve got together, and Jared is distracted.

He’s been zoned out of the lesson since it started, and Jensen is sitting a couple rows ahead of him and off to the left, giving Jared an excellent view of the cut of his jaw and attentive furrow in his brow while he scribbles down some notes. It’s impossible not to stare, and it’s not until one of his friends kicks him under the desk that he realizes his name is being called.

“Mr. Padalecki. Did you hear the question?”

Jared blinks up at his teacher and wonder if he’s as red as he feels, suddenly, the entire class staring at him and a couple of them snickering. “I, um- no, sir. Sorry, sir.”

A sigh, and the teacher turns back to the blackboard. “Try to pay more attention, or I’ll have to send you out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sheepish, he sinks down lower in his seat, and it’s only once the lecture has started again that Jared peeks back over towards Jensen. He doesn’t expect to meet Jensen’s eyes,and for a moment, he’s caught there, all tangled up in a secretive little smile. Jensen turns back to the front again quickly, but Jared can’t make himself focus. Not anymore.

He watches Jensen scribble something down, and then, as their teacher turns to write something on the board, Jensen hands a shred of paper to the student next to him. Jared feels his heart beating too fast as he follows the little shuffle of a note being passed, and when it finally ends up on his desk, he holds his breath.

_Meet me after class, by the bleachers? -J_

Jared waits until Jensen glances his way again- how he manages to make it look casual, Jared can’t say for sure- and then he grins, giving a tiny nod. Jensen smiles back at him, then returns to his notes.

If Jared had any hope left of listening to his teacher today, it’s gone up in smoke. He’s got a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. Two-Hundred Fifty: Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gotta sit up straight, Mr. Bear. It’s- it’s polite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters and a lil tea party.

“Gotta sit up straight, Mr. Bear. It’s- it’s polite.”

Dean watches his little brother across the table as Sam mumbles to his toy bear, straightening him up in the chair so that his chin just barely reaches the table’s edge. Beside Mr. Bear is Ms. Bunny, another well-loved toy, and across from them, to Dean’s left, there’s Kitty. Once Sam’s done getting everybody in order, he turns his attention back to the main event and clambers up into his own chair, clearing his throat.

“It’s time for- for the party to start,” he announces, then turns to Dean. “Can you serve the tea?”

Dean nods dutifully and reaches out to pick up the little pot of water sitting in the middle of the table. The motel room hasn’t been equipped with a proper tea set, so Dean had improvised; they’ve got an assortment of paper and plastic cups set out in front of each guest, and Dean very carefully pours some water into each one. When he’s done, he sets down the pot once more and sits back, watching his brother expectantly.

“Thank you, Mr. Dean.” Sam nods seriously and looks towards his guests. “And thank you all for coming. I’m sure you all have very busy schedules.”

Dean keeps a straight face as Sam addresses the gathered stuffed animals, and when he’s instructed to do so, he gives them each an Oreo from the little box he’d snagged when they were picking up groceries. Tea and crumpets, or biscuits, or something to that effect- he isn’t totally clear on the details, but Sam had wanted to have a tea party, and damn if Dean wasn’t going to give him one.

After he’s done with his speech, and presumably once the other guests have started eating (Dean intends to steal back every last Oreo once it’s time to clean up), Sam leans over close and whispers in Dean’s ear. Can’t disturb the party.

“We gotta dress up next time,” he says with the utmost seriousness, and Dean nods sagely. “With- with pretty clothes. And those fancy gloves.”

Dean counts down the days to Halloween in his head and wonders how easy it’ll be to find an inexpensive costume for his little brother. And maybe it won’t kill him to put on one that matches, if they ever have another tea party.

Anything for Sam. Anything he can do to keep his brother happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. Two-Hundred Fifty-One: Not Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean might be getting a little ahead of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil thing with Wincest and consent and whatnot.

Dean might be getting a little ahead of himself. It’s hard not to get caught up in this moment; he’s got his little brother underneath him and the cover of darkness, just the two of them in this motel room for however long it takes their father to return from this week’s hunt. That’s always offering a background track of anxiety, but for now, it fades into the back of Dean’s head. Right here, right now, all that matters is the taste of Sam’s skin and the little sounds that he makes when Dean uses his teeth. It’s intoxicating, and that might be why it takes a few tries before he realizes that Sam is speaking.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, and it must be the third or fourth time because now he’s gripping Dean’s hair- impressive in itself, for how short he keeps it- and that’s enough to get Dean’s attention, coming up panting and wide-eyed and trying to focus on something besides the heat that runs under his skin. “Dean, I- um- can we-”

He stutters himself into silence, and he won’t meet Dean’s eyes, and Dean frowns at that, quickly sobering. He shifts his weight until he can settle at Sam’s side, keeping close but giving the kid some breathing room to gather himself. “What? Something wrong?”

Sam looks embarrassed, Dean realizes. Ashamed, maybe? Whatever the case, it’s not a look he likes to see on his brother’s face, and he waits patiently while Sam wrestles with the words. He’s usually quick with his thoughts, and this only worries Dean further. “I don’t really… um. Today. I don’t feel like- you know-”

It makes a little more sense when Dean catches a hint of pink blooming across Sam’s cheeks, barely visible in the moonlight. In the immediate aftermath of what they’d been doing moments before, it makes a little more sense. “You mean- you don’t want to-?”

“Not right now,” Sam says quickly. “Just- I don’t know, it’s- it’s just. Not now? We can- we can still kiss and stuff, if- um, if you want to, but- don’t be mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” And Dean frowns, and he gathers his little brother into his arms, and he pulls Sam in close for a hug. For everything they do together- for everything their relationship has become- he’ll never stop being Sam’s big brother, and that always comes first in moments like this. Sam still fits perfectly here, even with all the growing he’s been doing, and he curls in tight just like he always has. “S'okay. We don’t have to.”

Sam’s quiet, and he buries his nose into the hollow of Dean’s throat. The two of them rest together like that for a few moments, and Dean closes his eyes, head tilted down until his lips brush Sam’s forehead. He’s nearly asleep when Sam speaks up again, barely audible.

“Love you.”

Dean smiles, and he holds Sam just a little bit tighter.

“Love you, too, kiddo.”

This, he thinks- this will always come first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. Two-Hundred Fifty-Two: Luxury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bathtub is, admittedly, a luxury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet Dean loves baths. He deserves them.

The bathtub is, admittedly, a luxury. Most motels get away with a poorly-maintained shower- maybe one of those fancy shower-heads that comes down like rain, if they’re really lucky. More often than not, Dean finds himself in some place with shitty water pressure and only enough hot water to get him through ten or fifteen minutes of peaceful bathing; after that, it’s pretty much a crapshoot, and he usually leaves his brother to tough it out in the cold.

But today- today, it seems that they’ve found a little bit of a diamond in the rough.

For the most part, this place is unremarkable. Tucked away at the edge of another small town, boasting cable TV and plenty of vacancies in the tourism lull that comes with the end of the summer. It gets them a cheap rate, and that’s more than enough to keep Dean happy as it is.

“Let’s catch a few hours of shut-eye,” he says as he leads the way in. Same kitchy design as every other motel this side of the border; it’s a little tacky, but still charming in its own right. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow. Dibs on the first shower.”

And Sam rolls his eyes like he always does, and Dean grins as he drops his bag on the bed closer to the door and makes for the bathroom, and everything is just like it always is until Dean lays his eyes on the porcelain beauty waiting for him behind the door.

So he ends up here, waiting for the tub to finish filling up with hot water and praying that it doesn’t turn to ice before it’s deep enough to cover his shoulders. Sam’s peeked in a few times as he putters around the room (Dean’s confused “what the hell?” had been enough to draw him in the first time around), and Dean paces the tiny room, probably too excited for his own good. His impatience finally wins him over, and he shouts to Sam that he’s no longer decent before stripping down and making to climb right into the tub.

Hot water. It’s hot all the way through, and Dean might as well melt the rest of the way down; it’s been too damn long since he’s had a bath like this and the sound he makes is nothing short of sinful. He sinks down into the water until it covers everything below his chin, and already, his eyes are closed, entirely consumed by bliss.

Dean thinks he could die happy here, lying in this (slightly cramped; the thing probably wasn’t designed for a guy his size) bathtub. He’s a simple man with simple needs.

A sharp knock on the door is almost enough to startle him out of his trance. Almost.

“You’d better leave some hot water, or you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Dean smiles. Bickering to be dealt with later. For now…

For now, peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. Two-Hundred Fifty-Three: Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sleep,” Dean orders for maybe the dozenth time in the past five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bedtime for the boys.

“Sleep,” Dean orders for maybe the dozenth time in the past five minutes. He’s in the process of making sure that his brother is thoroughly tucked into bed, a frown on his face because of the dark bruises under Sam’s eyes. “And stay asleep. For at least eight hours. Maybe like… fifteen, if you can manage it.”

“Dean, I’m fine,” Sam tells him, but exhaustion creeps through in his tone, loud and clear. Despite the protests, he doesn’t try to wiggle free of the blanket burrito Dean has wrapped him in, and his eyes are already half-closed. “Just- just need a few minutes. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean does one last check to make sure everything is as it should be before nodding to himself, satisfied. The trials have been taking a lot out of his brother- too much- so Dean clings to the little things he can do to help. The things he can distract himself with for a few moments; the ones that might temporarily convince him that any of this is okay. “Get some rest, big guy. And if I see you up and about in less than eight hours-”

“You’ll kick my ass?” Sam guesses, and it’s probably supposed to sound sarcastic, but he yawns right after and it kind of ruins the whole thing. “I get it, Dean. I’ll sleep.”

Dean squints at his brother like maybe Sam will try to escape his cozy bindings as soon as he’s alone, then sighs. “You’d better,” he grumbles, then on an impulse, leans in to press a tiny kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Sleep tight, kiddo.”

He turns to go before Sam can make any comment about what just happened, and when he leaves the room, he leaves Sam’s door open, just a crack. Just enough to peek inside and check on him if need be.

And just enough to let a sliver of light inside. Even after all these years, he doesn’t want his little brother to be scared of the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. Two-Hundred Fifty-Four: Zep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zep. That’s what he ends up naming the bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Dean and his lil bird pal.

Zep. That’s what he ends up naming the bird.

Two days out, and the little guy is on his way to recovery. Dean can’t help but fret the whole way through, but after a trip to a local vet- cute girl named Laura, right around his age, slipped her number into his pocket on his way out- he’s been assured that the bird will be okay. Laura had set the hurt wing, and already, Zep doesn’t seem as distressed by it. He’s warmed right up to Dean, too, especially now that he’s figured out what birds are supposed to eat.

For now, he’s still holed up in the same room. Gotten himself good and comfy because it doesn’t feel right to hit the road when he’s got his little buddy to worry about. Besides, it’s nice enough here. The local diner makes a good burger and he’s walking distance from a nice coffee place. And there’s no harm in taking a couple days off in the meantime.

Today, he’s taking it easy. Feet kicked up on the table, beer in hand, TV on. Zep sitting peacefully on his thigh, eyes closed and maybe even sleeping. Dean’s been assured that he needs the rest, so he’s content to pet one gentle fingertip over soft feathers, absent and soothing.

“You know,” he says absently, only halfway watching whatever’s on in front of him, “maybe you could stick around for a while. See the world. Or the States, at least…”

He trails off, as if he’ll get an answer. As expected, Zep stays quiet. Dean keeps going, anyways. “Loads of places to fly, once you’re all healed up. And it might be nice to…”

The words dry up in Dean’s mouth, and he huffs out a breath. It might be nice to have some company. To have somebody to sit shotgun with him. To not be alone anymore.

As if sensing Dean’s distress, Zep shuffles a tiny bit closer. His little body bumps against Dean’s hand, and he settles there with a quiet chirp, dozing once more. Dean sighs, and he tries to focus on better things.

Right now, he’s got this. He isn’t alone, and he doesn’t need to think about all the reasons why he should be.

For now, at least he’s got this one tiny friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. Two-Hundred Fifty-Five: Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam can’t help the way he keeps sneaking glances at his big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean love each other a lot. Teenchesters.

Sam can’t help the way he keeps sneaking glances at his big brother. They’re on the couch together, a box of pizza open on the table in front of them and some movie on the TV that Sam isn’t paying any measure of attention to. It’s still early in the evening, but they’re pretty well settled in for the night. Sam’s finished his homework, Dean’s probably shoved his to the very bottom of his bag, and neither of them have anywhere else to be.

Except that’s the part that really stumps Sam.

He’s seen the way people at school always look at Dean. His brother might as well be a god; he’s got girls falling all over him, boys desperate to be him, and he manages it all without even trying. Sam can’t blame all those people for being so infatuated with him, either. Not with his pretty green eyes and his easy grin and his sharp wit. Not when every single thing about him is impossible not to fall in love with.

All that being said, somebody like Dean really ought to have places to be on a Friday night. Classmates to hang out with, parties to attend. Sam knows for a fact that there are girls who would happily let Dean take them anywhere on a night like this, because Dean takes great pride in sharing the phone numbers he collects like lucky pennies. And yet, here he is, settled deep into the couch beside his geeky baby brother, watching old movies and eating greasy pizza and seeming for all the world like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Sam doesn’t get it.

“What? I got a pepperoni on my face?” Dean asks, and Sam startles, realizing he’s been caught staring. He’s zoned out so far that he hasn’t even noticed he’s been watching Dean this whole time. “What’s up, squirt?”

Sam doesn’t know how to explain himself, and the nickname just makes him wonder all over again why Dean is here. Why would he choose to hang out with Sam over some pretty girl? “I- nothing. Just… thinking.”

Dean smiles at that, and Sam tries not to pay attention to the way his heart stutters. “Well don’t think too hard,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Sam’s hair. Sam shakes his head sharply to get it back in place. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

And just like that, he goes back to the movie, that same little smile lingering on his face. He looks content, like there’s no place in the world he would rather be, and Sam is still puzzled by the whole thing.

After a few moments, he allows himself to relax, even trying to pay attention to the movie they’re watching instead of the expressions that cross Dean’s face as it plays. He might not understand why Dean’s here right now, and maybe he’ll never work up the courage to ask, but…

Dean laughs at a bad joke, and Sam feels something flutter in his chest, warm and familiar.

Whatever the case, Sam’s just happy to have his big brother here. Maybe the details don’t matter so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. Two-Hundred Fifty-Six: Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The overhead fan is just short of hypnotizing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Stanford and angst and. Dean loves his brother desperately.

The overhead fan is just short of hypnotizing. Dean watches the blades making their lazy circles with his eyes half-open, imagining the paths that the artificial breeze cuts through the otherwise stagnant air. It’s late in the summer, late enough that fall has begun its slow creep into the leaves on the trees and the chilly air that comes with the early mornings, and Dean… Dean is content.

Sam rests in his arms, quiet. The bed is, for once, big enough for the both of them, but they’re still tangled up close; Sam’s got his cheek resting on Dean’s bare chest, and Dean feels the weight of his brother’s presence with every breath he takes. It’s comforting and familiar.

“You know,” he muses out loud without looking away from the fan, “we still haven’t checked out that- that place. The make-out spot on the outskirts of town. The- what’s it called-”

“Lookout point.” Sam speaks quietly, and Dean feels the vibrations against his skin. “It’s a lookout point. For stargazing. Or birdwatching, maybe.”

Dean hums. The details don’t matter. “Sounds pretty good for making out, too. Maybe tomorrow, we get a nice dinner, we drive up there, bring a couple beers-”

“I’m still underaged,” Sam cuts in patiently, just like he always does. As if he hadn’t begged for sips of Dean’s beer when he used to sneak them in years past. “And- I don’t know. I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna work.”

There’s something strange in his voice, but Dean chooses to ignore it. “Why not?” he asks, flippant. “I’ve got the day off. You don’t have school to worry about anymore.” Sam tenses minutely. Dean presses on. “Nothing stopping us from having a- a date night. It’s romantic. Right?”

Sam doesn’t answer for a long time. He’s been weird, these past couple weeks, and Dean’s been waiting for it to pass. Telling himself that whatever Sam’s got on his mind, he’ll share it when he’s ready. Except that Sam hasn’t said a damn thing and Dean’s going out of his mind with worry, and all he can do is sit here and hold him and try to offer some semblance of distraction.

“Sammy?” he prompts when he doesn’t get a response. He rubs his thumb in little circles over the knob of Sam’s spine and feels his brother shiver against him. Voice softening, Dean continues. “You alright?”

Sam breathes out slow, and for a moment, Dean thinks he might pull away. Instead, he shuffles closer until his head is tucked right up under Dean’s chin. Dean holds him tight and closes his eyes. The fan is making him dizzy.

“I think it’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” Sam says, voice soft. Dean can’t put his finger on the tone that runs underneath. “We should probably stay in.”

But instead of pushing, Dean accepts it. He accepts that Sam will ask for help when he needs it, and not a moment sooner. That maybe he’s out of the loop right now, but if he’s patient, his brother will trust him enough to share.

For now, he holds Sam tight and tells him that he loves him. He pretends not to hear the wobble in Sam’s voice when he echoes the words, and he tries to focus on what he has in the here and now.

He just needs to wait a little longer. Everything will sort itself out as long as they stick together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. Two-Hundred Fifty-Seven: School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight hours is too damn long for a day of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a little lonely at home.

Eight hours is too damn long for a day of school.

Dean catches himself pacing late in the afternoon, checking the clock every time he passes by it, and he feels stupid. It’s been less than a day since he’s seen Sam. Maybe he’s just feeling the first signs of cabin fever; without a job to keep himself occupied while they’re in town, he’s going crazy just staying in the room all day. Maybe tomorrow he’ll find something to fix that.

For today, though, he’s stuck waiting for Sam to get home. He’d be embarrassed about it if he wasn’t so bored.

That all goes out the window once he hears the door opening, though. He’s on Sam before his brother’s even got a chance to put his bag down, and- yeah, okay, he’s maybe a little over-eager for some entertainment.

“Hey,” Dean says as if he’s not all up in Sam’s space, going in for a quick peck. Sam, to his credit, doesn’t seem fazed; maybe a little amused, but he goes with it. “Good day?”

“It was alright.” Sam manages to get himself enough breathing room to drop his backpack on the floor, then submits to Dean’s affections, allowing himself to be dragged inside and towards the couch. “You, uh- you good?”

“Better now.” Hell; he’s already this far. Dean figures there’s no use trying to be subtle about this. He gets Sam onto the couch with him and then just about climbs on top of him; this kiss is longer and deeper and he can feel Sam smiling into it. The nervous energy is already draining away, and Dean can feel himself starting to relax, hands fisted in his brother’s shirt.

“Dean,” Sam mumbles into his mouth, and Dean makes a noise in response. “Dean, jus’- hold on.”

So Dean pauses, and he pulls away enough to let them both catch their breath. Sam’s looking a little disheveled now, and it kind of makes Dean want to kiss him again. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got homework.” Sam’s smile is just short or sheepish. “So, uh- can I-?”

“Oh. Yeah, uh- yeah.” Now Dean can feel that hint of embarrassment, and he clambers off of Sam and hops to his feet. “I can can some food? If you’re hungry?”

“Sure.” A softer smile this time, and before Dean can dart away to deal with that- Sam catches his wrist, waits until Dean looks at him to speak again. “Missed you.”

And that’s enough to make Dean go all soft and gooey inside. Christ. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling it. “You, too, kiddo.”

He hurries off to find them both something to eat, and in his peripheral vision, Sam gets himself settled down to work. It’s a nice little slice of domesticity, and all of the anxiety and stagnancy of the day seem to melt away. Dean might not be great at dealing with it in the moment, but…

Well. At least he’s got this to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. Two-Hundred Fifty-Eight: Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is not entirely happy with how Dean talks to their dad.

“Yes, sir.”

Sam can never quite decide how he feels when he watches Dean at work with their dad. He used to be jealous; he hated being left alone while his big brother got to help out on Dad’s hunts, and he’d dreamed of the day when he would be old enough to join them. Sometimes, even today, he watches with stars in his eyes; there will always be that part of Sam that’s head-over-heels in love with Dean, no matter how hard he tries to bury it. It’s hard to imagine not being in love with Dean, and he’s so damn good at what he does.

But these days- these days, it mostly makes Sam hurt.

It’s only in recent years that he’s come to notice the way their family operates. Dad hands out the orders and Dean follows without hesitation or question- sometimes, if he has to, he’ll relay those orders to Sam and make sure he follows through. It’s painful to watch, sometimes, though Sam can’t pin down the reason why. Maybe because he knows that Dean is so much better than a grunt; a tool. Maybe because he’s grown to resent the way things run here, and by extension, their father. If it weren’t for Dean constantly running interference, Sam figures they’d be fighting a whole lot more.

At least right now he holds in his comments until Dad is out of earshot. “You don’t have to always… listen to him like that,” Sam says quietly, and he doesn’t quite look at Dean. “I mean- you know this stuff just as well as he does. Maybe better.”

“Don’t talk like that.” But Dean’s loyalty never wavers, and it’s heartbreaking to watch. “Dad knows what he’s doing. We just gotta trust him, right?”

And Sam wants to protest- wants to insist on the fine line between trust and blind faith, or maybe to suggest that Dad should trust them, too- but Dean’s got that weary look about him that usually comes on whenever he needs to break them up, so Sam keeps his mouth shut and looks away. He doesn’t want to fight with Dean. Not about this.

Maybe his brother’s a lost cause on this front, but quietly, Sam intends to keep fighting. If Dean won’t stand up for himself, then it’s only right that Sam does it for him. After everything that Dean’s done for him…

Well. Sam thinks he owes him at least this little something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. Two-Hundred Fifty-Nine: Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have gotten messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty season four brother stuff.

Things have gotten messy. Between the lying and the demon blood and the race against the clock to get to the seals before Lilith has a chance to, Sam feels like he’s in far, far over his head. He’s gotten into the habit of going to Ruby in those moments- the moments when it all feels like it’s too much; when he feels like he can’t breathe- but he realizes, eventually, that she does nothing to ground him. She works him up more, she gets him his fix, she whispers into his ear about everything to come- but she doesn’t ground him. She doesn’t steady him or help him find his head in those moments. Not the way he’s convinced himself that she did for so long.

Sam feels like he’s in limbo now, because without turning to Ruby as a solution, he feels far out of his own head. It’s late at night, and he’s starting to get that itch under his skin like maybe he needs to see her for another reason altogether, and the lights are off in the room, and Dean is breathing in soft little hitches in the bed beside him-

Dean.

It’s Dean’s irregular breathing that brings Sam down to Earth for a moment, enough to register that something is wrong with his brother. Nightmares are nothing new to their lives, but ever since Hell- ever since Hell, Sam gets the sense that things have gotten worse.

He still struggles not to feel guilty for that. Ruby whispers about that, too, sometimes- about how Dean got himself into that whole mess. That’s usually when he pushes her away.

But right now, Dean is having a nightmare, and by the sound of things, it’s getting bad. In the dark, it’s hard to see Dean’s expression, but based on the sounds he’s making and the sound of shifting fabric as he struggles against the bedsheets-

Maybe it would be best to intervene.

That’s what takes up Sam’s attention now, as he slips out of his own bed and pads quietly over to Dean’s. It’s easy as breathing to climb in beside his brother, just the way they always did when they were kids, and- and maybe it shouldn’t feel so natural to fit himself against Dean’s back, the two of them slotting together like they were made for this purpose. Maybe it shouldn’t be so good to feel Dean go soft against him; forever a light sleeper, but barely stirring with the feeling of Sam’s touch. Like Sam’s the only person he trusts enough to do this.

Sam wraps an arm around his brother’s middle and he holds on tight, burying his nose in the back of Dean’s neck and listening to the beat of his heart. It’s only as Dean’s breathing starts to even out again that Sam realizes the support goes both ways; that buzzing in his head and the restless feeling that’s been keeping him awake has ebbed into nonexistence, and it’s not hard to attribute it entirely to Dean’s closeness. To the smell of his aftershave and the warmth of his skin and the reassurance of having the most important person in the world held close in his arms.

Sam doesn’t think about falling asleep. It happens before he has any say in the matter, and it’s all he can do to stay close to Dean and hope that the nightmares leave both of them alone for the rest of the night. They could both use a proper rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. Two-Hundred Sixty: Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn’t mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't very good at taking care of himself.

Sam doesn’t mention it. Not for a little while, anyways. Dad and Dean come back from their hunt of the week and things go on as normal; they pack up, hit the road, and head for the next small town whose shadows have gotten a touch too bold. It’s a few hours in the car, and it’s checking into another motel, and it’s him and his big brother being left to fend for themselves while Dad heads out to do some recon on his own.

And through it all, Sam doesn’t say a damn thing about the elephant in the room, because Dad doesn’t mention it and neither does Dean and Sam thinks that maybe it’s the grown-up thing to do to stay quiet about stuff. More than anything, he wants his dad and brother to see him as a grown-up.

But by the time their pizza arrives for dinner that night, and Dean’s little winces are getting harder to ignore, and the bandages around his head are looking like they need to be changed- Sam can’t help himself. He can’t stay quiet about this.

“What happened?” he asks in the middle of a commercial break, and he’s quiet and tentative because if Dean hasn’t said anything yet, then maybe it means he doesn’t want to talk about it at all. Maybe he’ll be mad at Sam for bringing it up. “To- to your head. What happened?”

And Dean looks a little surprised at first, like maybe he’s forgotten about it, but Sam thinks it must be hard not to think about what looks like some ind of nasty head injury. Dean’s weird about this stuff, though. “I, uh- I got thrown around a bit. Smacked it on an old table. It was stupid.”

And it’s dismissive and self-scolding, and Sam doesn’t like that one bit. Dean being mad at himself for getting hurt just doesn’t seem right, especially since he’s been so quiet about it. “Are you okay? I mean- does it-”

“Not really.” Sam’s not sure which question Dean is answering, but by the furrow in his brow, Dean’s probably lying. Sam doesn’t like that, either. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. You hungry?”

But Sam’s smart enough to know when his brother’s trying to distract him, so instead of responding to that question, he scrambles closer, right up against Dean’s side until he can inspect Dean’s head for himself. And it’s hard, what with the bandage in the way- Dad must’ve done it; it’s neatly done, and Dean’s usually pretty sloppy when he cleans himself up- but he does his best, lifting a hand like he’s going to feel it out until Dean grabs his wrist, firm but careful.

“I’m fine,” he says sternly, but suddenly he sounds tired. “Just don’t worry about me. Okay, Sammy? I’m good. Promise.”

Sam doesn’t believe him. Not for one second. But Dean looks exhausted all at once, and it’s been a long day of travel, and if Dean’s hurt, then he’s probably not in any mood for arguing with his little brother. So no matter how bad Sam wants to pry further-

“‘Kay.” And he lingers for another short moment before leaving Dean be, plopping down in his spot and looking towards the TV as if he actually cares what’s on. He can almost physically sense Dean relaxing beside him. “Sorry.”

They fall into silence after that, and Sam’s left to his thoughts and his concerns. Mostly about Dean. Mostly about how his brother doesn’t seem to have much regard for his own safety and well-being, if any at all, and how Sam thinks he ought to make up for that in one way or another.

He’ll find a way to do it. Somebody has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. Two-Hundred Sixty-One: Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flower comes up easy for him, its stem breaking under a tiny application of force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers and flowers and stuff.

The flower comes up easy for him, its stem breaking under a tiny application of force. It stands proud and tall, despite the quick execution, and Dean twirls it between his fingers, watching the way the petals shift with the air around them. They’re purple, baby-soft; a bold contrast to the space  around them as the leaves begin to change, an early sign of the decay towards winter. The scattered patches of flowers stand as brave sentinels, resisting their inevitable fate. Dean kind of likes that idea.

“Since when are you into flowers?” Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t seem terribly concerned about it. He’s up ahead, leading the way on their impromptu hike through the woods at the edge of town. Dean’s still not sure how his brother talked him into it, but now that he’s out here… the air is fresh, the sky is blue overhead, and the only sounds are the rustling of leaves and their footsteps as they make their way along. It’s peaceful. “Aren’t they too girly for you or something?”

Dean makes a face and looks down at the little blossom he holds. Girly, maybe, but there’s something about its delicacy that makes him recoil at the idea of dropping it. He’s already picked the thing; all he would accomplish by leaving it behind would be to seal its fate of a quick return to the soil beneath his feet. No more chance to grow towards the sun; just a quick few days of decomposition as its companions watch in silence.

Maybe he’s been reading too much. There’s not much else to do with his time these days, finished with school and momentarily out of work. Sam seems to approve, at least.

“I don’t like hiking, either,” Dean says eventually. He brushes his thumb gently across one of the flower’s petals, then starts walking again, careful to stick to the beaten path. When he reaches his brother, he holds out the flower like an offering, giving Sam a crooked smile. “And you like girly stuff, right?”

It gets the desired effect; Sam blushes, and after a short hesitation, he reaches out to accept the flower. He’s just as gentle with it as Dean had been, looking at it in wonder before he snaps out of it. “I, um- just- you don’t-”

“You’re welcome.” Content that the flower has found a safe new home, Dean continues walking, taking the lead now as Sam recovers from the unexpected (romantic?) gesture. He takes a great deal of enjoyment out of catching Sam off-guard like this. “C'mon, there’s still hiking to do. Rocks to look at. Roots to trip over…”

Sam catches up with him again shortly after and gives him a solid elbow to the ribs, but Dean notices he still holds the flower. And he keeps holding it all the way back to the motel, and later in the evening, Sam tucks it into a book, trying to be subtle when he thinks Dean isn’t looking.

Dean lets him have his imagined privacy and smiles. Maybe not the life the flower could’ve had, but a longer, safer one with a whole lot more meaning attached.

Yeah. He definitely needs to ease up on the love stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Two-Hundred Sixty-Two: Closet

So maybe the janiter’s closet is a little cliché. And maybe it’s not the classiest place in the world. It’s got a distinct damp scent to it; cement floors and old mops and a single, bare light bulb dangling overhead, not that they’re making any use of it.

Dean’s not sure how he feels about the fact that Sam’s nearly taller than him, now, but he definitely likes how pushy his brother has gotten. The two of them fight for control when they first stumble in here, Dean swinging by the high school on some half-assed excuse about Sam forgetting his lunch, and it had been too damn easy to find a place to be alone-

“Fuck,” Sam hisses, because Dean’s got his lips pressed to his throat and he’s not holding anything back. They used to play games like this, seeing how far they could go without getting caught, but this is too close to messy desperation to be that structured. “Fuck, Dean, don’t- don’t fucking-”

“Language,” Dean mumbles against his skin, then follows it up with a sharp nip. Sam keens for him and Dean grins. “When did you get such a dirty mouth, Sammy?”

Except Sam’s grown out of the blushing and stuttering thing he used to do, and this time, when Dean teases him, he retaliates. He’s quick to flip their positions, shoving Dean up hard against the back of the door and knocking over a mop, and Dean laughs until it’s smothered by a hard, unrelenting kiss.

“I’m not a kid,” Sam says into it, and he sounds frustrated in that beautiful way that Dean keeps falling in love with. “Stop treating me like one.”

And yeah, maybe there are some deeper issues here, and maybe Dean leans too hard into keeping his little brother the way he wants him to be, but fuck if he can help himself when Sam represents every good thing in the world. Instead of fessing up to any of that, Dean just grabs Sam’s shirt and hauls him in closer until they’re  _tooclose_ and everything gets fuzzy, a heated blur between the swapping spit and the aimless groping and the school bell-

“Shit.” And there’s that again, Sam cursing the way Dean did when he was even younger, and Dean can’t help but smile. “I have to- I’ve got-”

“Calc test, right?” Dean gives Sam a gentle shove, creating some distance so they can both breathe. “Go knock their socks off. I’ll swing by to pick you up later, yeah?”

And Sam still looks a little dazed in the low lighting, a little like he doesn’t want to leave, but the warning bell rings a second time and he scrambles towards the door. “I, uh- yeah. See you.”

He’s gone, just like that, and Dean’s left with a grin on his face and a semi down south and a few hours to kill before they can finish what they started.

On his way out, he wonders whether or not the hickies will show on Sam’s skin. He’s usually pretty good for that kind of thing.


	20. Two-Hundred Sixty-Three: Bundled Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hold still, kiddo. Easy, there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft John and Sammy.

“Hold still, kiddo. Easy, there.”

Sammy seems to like it when John talks, so he keeps up a pretty constant monologue whenever he needs to keep the kid’s attention. Tasked with getting him dressed and ready for the day while Mary gets the coffee going, it’s exactly the kind of distraction that he can take advantage of to make this job a little bit easier.

To his credit, Sammy is a pretty cooperative baby. He’s got his eyes fixed on some arbitrary point on the ceiling whenever he’s not looking at John, and sometimes he giggles at something John says, or if he makes a funny face. He’s easy to entertain.

With the weather outside starting to turn, and a plan to visit the park early in the afternoon, John goes for some cozy options, picking out a little blue onesie to get him into. His diaper’s already been changed, so John focuses on getting him all bundled up; Sammy laughs when he’s scooped up and gently manhandled into his outfit, and he does his best to grip at John’s shirt whenever he gets the opportunity to do so. John can’t keep the smile off his face.

“You’re a wiggly one, aren’t you?” he hums, and it’s only once he manages to get Sammy’s legs both in place- the enthusiastic kicking makes it a bit of a challenge- that he can get the rest of the suit in place, guiding Sammy’s arms through their holes and then doing up the buttons. “I think you get that from your mom.”

Sammy responds by reaching out and patting John’s cheek. At least somebody agrees.

The little booties and the hat come next, everything colour-coordinated because apparently that’s important, and soon enough, Sammy’s as good as a bug in a rug, bundled up tight and looking terribly pleased with himself for the fact. John makes sure everything’s tucked in and buttoned up like it should be, then holds his baby close and gives him a kiss on the top of the head.

“Ready to go?” he asks, and smiles when Sammy yawns at him. “Yeah, I thought so. C'mon, let’s go see Mom and Dean.”

He doesn’t let go of Sammy until it’s time to load him into the stroller, and he’s left feeling warm and happy. It’s nice to be needed, even if it’s just in a tiny way like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. Two-Hundred Sixty-Four: Obsessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam thinks he might be a little bit obsessed with his brother’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincesty.

Sam thinks he might be a little bit obsessed with his brother’s mouth.

And it’s not his fault. Really, it isn’t. He’s certainly not the only person to have this problem; he sees the way that strangers look at Dean, men and women both, like they’re hungry. Like they want something from him. Sam hates it, hates the way that Dean pretends not to notice, but he stays quiet. He stays quiet because he’s exactly the same and he’d be a hypocrite if he said anything about it.

He can’t help himself, though. Not when Dean looks the way he does; all big eyes and cinnamon freckles and pink lips. And it’s the lips that really get him, he thinks; hours wasted away wondering if they feel as soft as they look. Dean hasn’t kissed him goodnight since he was a toddler, and Sam never thought he’d miss that part of his life, but fuck. Fuck, he wishes he could have that back. He wishes and wishes until he gets something even better.

Dean kisses him for the first time when Sam is fourteen years old, and the guilt in his eyes is plain as day, so Sam sets out to squash it. He does everything in his power to assure his brother that this is what he wants, so he climbs into Dean’s lap at every opportunity and tries to kiss the doubt away.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s finally gotten his wish, either. He finds out that Dean’s lips are, in fact, softer than he could’ve imagined. Sam’s kissed a few girls, but none of them come close. He doesn’t say any of that to Dean until they’re older. Until he’s braver.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and he’s seventeen years old, and Dad’s out of town, and he’s just as tall as Dean is, now, crowded up over his brother when they’re crammed together in the same bed. As if they’re not too old for this. “So- so fucking beautiful, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t believe him, or maybe he just doesn’t like hearing it. Maybe it’s got to do with all those other people who tend to say the same sort of thing. But he’s past the point of shoving Sam away and going off to brood on his own, and when Sam leans in to press their lips together, Dean goes soft under him, fingers scrabbling against Sam’s bare chest for some kind of grip.

“Shut up,” Dean mumbles into the kiss, and Sam grins. “Shut up, Sam.”

Sam does. At least for right now.

He only pulls away to see the way the moonlight looks on Dean’s skin, his mouth all spit-slicked while he catches his breath. It’s hard to make out his expression, but when Sam brings his hand up and swipes a thumb over Dean’s bottom lip, Dean lets him.

“You are,” he says, once more. Quieter this time, as if that’ll make it easier for Dean to hear. “More than anyone else in the world.”

He presses gently with his thumb, just to feel the give of Dean’s flesh, and Dean’s lips part for him. It’s easy to slip inside, heart hammering in his chest because no matter how many times he does this, it’s too much.

“I just wish you’d see it.” Sam huffs out a breath and meets Dean’s eyes once more, the both of them silent for a moment. Dean’s tongue presses lightly against the pad of Sam’s thumb and Sam wishes he could stay here forever. “It’s the truth.”

When he pulls away, Dean lets him, not saying a word as Sam curls up by his side, like he’s suddenly seven years old again. Sam closes his eyes and puts his head on Dean’s chest, his thumb still wet and cooling now in the open air.

“Night, Sam.” When Dean speaks up, his voice is quiet and rough. Sam knows this tone, and his heart twists with it. It’s too emotional, and it’s Dean bottling everything up to store away. The usual.

Sam tries to swallow around the lump in his throat and presses a little closer. “Night, Dean.”

When Dean presses a kiss to the top of his head, absent and affectionate, Sam has to squeeze his eyes shut to quiet the sudden, choking wave of emotion.

He doesn’t know how to even begin to deal with any of this, but he falls asleep before he gets the chance to try. The last thing he’s aware of is Dean, arms tight around him and heart beating nearby, forever Sam’s anchor to the real world and the reminder of why he’s here in the first place.

The rest of it, he can figure out later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Two-Hundred Sixty-Five: Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t know where he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More nightmares.

Dean doesn’t know where he is. It’s dark in the way the backs of his eyelids tend to be; a darkness that presses on him, insisting that something lay just beyond with the burning promise of dawn. He thinks he might be standing, but his body feels so distant that it’s hard to say for sure. He could just as well be lying down. He could just as well be dead.

“Hello?” he tries, and his voice echoes back at him, warbled and distant. Next is, “Sam?”

Nobody responds. Confused, Dean tries to move forward, and all at once, he stumbles into something else altogether.

This place is familiar. Recognition comes on him fast and hard; it’s the kitchen from the old house, back in Lawrence. It’s a scene he’s dreamt of a hundred thousand times, and it chokes him up the same way it always does.

Mom looks the way she always does. Beautiful. Soft at the edges. A memory blurred by time and adoration; glowing golden like she’s descended from Heaven itself. She wears the same colour as always; pure, untainted white, today in a soft-looking sundress that Dean imagines smells of clean laundry and vanilla.

“Mom,” he says, and just like always, she turns and smiles at him, warm as a summer’s day. Dean steps forward and she meets him halfway, reaching up to touch his cheek. Dean thinks he might cry as he leans into it. “Mom, I- where-?”

“You’re just in time for lunch, sweetheart,” she tells him, and nothing else seems important anymore. “Here, sit down for me. I even cut the crusts off, just how you like it.”

Dean’s far checked out by the time he settles in a chair, watching his mom like she’s the centre of his entire universe. She moves like she’s floating, humming a tune from his childhood and looking beautiful and healthy and alive.

“Maybe we can go to the park today.” Another smile, and she brings him a plate. Peanut butter and jam, crusts cut off. “It’s nice outside. And Sammy could use some fresh air…”

The smell of smoke doesn’t hit Dean right away, but when it does, it hits him hard.

Things happen too quickly for him to react. Mom seems to be entirely unconcerned as the flames start to lick at the edges of the room, rapidly closing in on them both, and Dean- Dean’s frozen to his seat. He’s stuck in that sort of dream-logic that renders movement impossible, no matter how much every single part of him screams to run. To react. To help her.

She’s still smiling when her dress catches fire.

“I love you, Dean,” she tells him, and her voice has gone tender. She reaches out to touch him once more, and the flames have started to eat away at her skin in destructive swaths, and Dean thinks he’s going to cry. Her fingertips are cold when they brush his cheek.

Still, he chokes out his answer. He needs to. “I love you, too, Mom.”

She doesn’t scream. Neither does Dean.

He wakes up in a panic, everything blurry as he fumbles for a grip on reality. It’s too hot, and the sheets have him in a vice grip, and he needs to leave, to get out, to breathe-

“Dean, hey, hold on- Dean!”

Sam’s voice is what brings him back to himself, but Dean’s still struggling to breathe, eyes wild as they finally settle on his brother. Sam looks like a mess, dark circles under his eyes and hair unkept, worry etched deep into his features. He’s too young to wear an expression like that.

“You were having a nightmare,” Sam says, his voice softer now as Dean tries to calm down. A nightmare. “You- you’ve still got a pretty bad fever. I think we should call Dad.”

The heat makes sense, suddenly. As does the slowly-mounting feeling of everything being too much. He hurts all over, and the sweat on his skin has him shivering. Still, he’s adamant when he shakes his head.

“M'fine,” he mumbles, slowly settling back down into the bed. The motel room comes back to him in bits and pieces, and things make a little more sense. His heart rate tries to return to normal. “I’m… I’m fine.”

Sam still looks worried, but he doesn’t say anything else, just offering Dean a bottle of water. Dean doesn’t say anything about his dream, and Sam doesn’t ask.

It’s always the fever dreams that get him bad. Maybe he just needs to focus on not falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Two-Hundred Sixty-Six: Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the low light of the motel room, Sam struggles not to fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little brothers sickfic.

In the low light of the motel room, Sam struggles not to fall back asleep. The curtains are drawn, and only the small oven light by the kitchenette offers a source of illumination. It’s just enough for him to make out the silhouette of his brother, working away in front of the stove at whatever he’s cooking up. The smell of spices waft over to him in lazy waves, and it’s got his attention, if nothing else. His sinuses already feel a little clearer.

“Almost done over here,” Dean calls out, and Sam blinks at him, sleepy. “How you holdin’ up, champ?”

Sam feels a little bit like his head is going to explode and a lot like he never, ever wants to get out of bed. He can’t take any proper cold medicine until he eats something, though. “Been better.”

Dean nods, then turns back to what he’s doing. Sam’s been promised some kind of soup, and he wonders, idly, if his brother is preparing one of their father’s old recipes. Not the best-tasting, but certainly effective. “Hopefully this’ll help a bit. And then you can take your drugs and pass out again, okay?”

Sam makes some vaguely affirmative noise before burrowing deeper into his blanket nest. His eyes drift half-shut while he listens to Dean finish what he’s doing, and sleep threatens to drag him under once more until Dean approaches, steaming bowl held carefully with a dishtowel to protect his hands. “Here we go. You think you can sit up for me?”

Sam does as he’s told with a small wince, getting himself comfortable while Dean sets the soup down on the side table for him. He feels like a little kid again, getting pampered by his big brother, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Secretly, he kind of enjoys this, and he suspects that Dean might, too. “What’s on the menu?”

“Something new.” Dean shrugs, then helps get the bowl situated on Sam’s lap. There’s a spoon waiting for him, and Sam picks it up, curious. Whatever’s in front of him smells amazing. “A bit experimental, so, uh- maybe tread with caution.”

With a slow nod, Sam takes his first spoonful, blowing it gently before bringing it in to eat. Right away, it’s fantastic; spicy enough to clear out his head without being painful in his sensitive state. It’s hot enough to be soothing, and it feels good going down his throat. Hearty enough to be filling without upsetting his stomach.

“So?” Dean asks once Sam’s had a couple mouthfuls, with more enthusiasm following the first. “What’s the verdict?”

Sam thinks his brother has a serious future to consider in the kitchen.

“S'good,” he says around half a mouthful, and makes himself swallow before he smiles. Dean looks happy, and that warms Sam somewhere the soup doesn’t reach. “Thanks, Dean.”

So Sam eats his soup, and Dean fills the air with absent chatter, and by the time they’re done, Sam’s eyelids are heavy and his stomach is comfortable full. Dean gets him some meds before helping him get settled down into bed again, tucking him in just like old times, and Sam can barely mumble a thanks before he’s drifting off to the sound of Dean starting to clean up.

Sam’s feeling better already. Having somebody to take care of him always makes that easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Two-Hundred Sixty-Seven: Relaxation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the late afternoon sunshine, they find a moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon AU again. Just a soft thing.

In the late afternoon sunshine, they find a moment of peace. A lazy-flowing river that fills offers a soft sort of background noise; a simple lunch; a comfortable patch of grass. Though the season grows ever-colder with the slow approach of winter, the breeze offers but a subtle relief from the heat of the sun, and overall, Jensen is content.

He rests back against Jared’s chest, fitted neatly in the space between his hips in an odd inversion of how things usually are. In human shape, though, Jared likes to have him close like this, something that Jensen has come to learn very quickly as their boundaries gradually disintegrate. Jensen, as always, is entirely happy with that; Jared’s body heat is more than enough to stave off the cooler autumn air, leaving him warm enough to enjoy this properly. It’s quiet and tranquil, and Jensen closes his eyes as he rests his head back against his partner’s shoulder.

Forever curious about the world around him- and more so about Jared, specifically- as soon as a question pops into his head, he asks it, voice soft against the rustle of life in the woods. “Did you ever hibernate? In winter? I know some dragons prefer to.” Cuddled up close like this, comfortably full after their meal, Jensen can see the appeal in the thought. “Easier than hunting once there’s snow on the ground, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Jensen feels Jared shrug behind him. He’s started on with some mindless sort of nuzzling; little butterfly kisses against the back of Jensen’s neck. It’s as nice as it is terribly distracting. “I always thought it was a waste of time to sleep away a whole season. Besides… with everybody else asleep, there’s nobody else to compete with for resources. Makes for an easier hunt than you’d think.”

“Huh.” Jensen hums, his mind wandering far away as Jared continues trying to take him apart in tiny affections. He thinks he could happily fall asleep here right now, with no regard for bothering to wake up. With no care in the world besides staying in the arms of the creature who holds him, arms curled tight around his middle. “I guess that makes sense.”

A nod, and Jared falls quiet again, still working away as he gently nibbles the shell of Jensen’s ear. He works his way down until his lips are pressed to the side of Jensen’s throat, and Jensen exhales slowly. He’s warm with the attention, but it’s amazingly relaxing, too. He turns his head so their noses bump together, then opens his eyes, meeting Jared’s with a smile. Hypnotizing in how distant they are from humanity, but still soft. Still careful, like he’s worried about doing Jensen some harm.

“Besides.” Jared breaks the silence once more, his voice gentle now. “If I went to sleep for winter, who would be around to take care of you?”

Jensen melts, and he laughs, and he finds Jared’s lips with his own, quiet and chaste. Jared holds him tight, and this is everything that Jensen needs in the world. A fractional moment of peace among chaos, and he wishes he could distill it into eternity.

“Then you’d better keep your eyes open,” Jensen murmurs into the kiss, and Jared chuffs at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The afternoon fades into a million perfect moments, and Jensen thinks he’ll never be happier than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Two-Hundred Sixty-Eight: Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are too quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Dean was cured from being a demon.

Things are too quiet. The silence aches after the chaos of the cat-and-mouse game they’d played mere hours before, and the small desk light illuminating Sam’s bedroom is nothing in the after-echoes of the flashing emergency lights. He still sees the blood red every time he closes his eyes.

More than anything else, he’s just too aware. Aware of every beat of his own heart, every distant noise that comes from the inevitable shifting and creaking of such an old structure, every second that ticks by without- without  _something_. Everything is still and silent and it’s slowly grating on Sam’s sanity.

Maybe it’s for the best that he gets some distance from his brother right now. Maybe they both need a second to breathe.

Maybe he should lock his door when he hears footsteps coming down the hallway, and maybe he shouldn’t be able to see each and every step that Dean takes. Every hesitation. Every time he stops and thinks about turning back.

The knock still makes him jump. He’s too on edge after everything that’s happened- after the last several weeks as a whole- and it takes him a moment before he’s able to work up the ambition to stand.

Dean doesn’t look great. After the artificial bravado and heightened aggression brought on by his resurrection, the exhaustion in his eyes and the way he’s dangerously close to hunching in on himself stands out starkly. Maybe, Sam thinks distantly, it’s all starting to catch up with him; whatever he’s been up to with Crowley since he climbed out of his deathbed in the to begin with. Sam doesn’t know the details. He isn’t sure that he ever wants to.

“Um… hey.” Dean won’t meet his eyes, either, and he looks distinctly uncomfortable. Shuffles around in place and clears his throat and looks about a hair’s breadth from bolting. Sam wonders how long it took him to work up the courage to come here. “I. Uh. How’re you feeling?”

It’s the way these conversations always start, when they don’t know how to talk about an elephant. Sam stands there in his pyjamas and his sling and his mussed hair and he wonders if they’ll ever manage to go into it for real. “I’m… fine, I guess.” A pause. “You alright?”

Dean shrugs, and then there’s a fleeting attempt at eye contact before he looks down at his feet again. Sam’s reminded, unpleasantly, of how his brother has looked when green had been flooded with black. “Sure. Yeah, I’m- I’m good.”

Dean’s wearing long sleeves, and Sam wonders if it’s intentional. The Mark is hidden away, quiet for now. Sam can’t forget about it, all the same.

They stand in an uncomfortable silence for a few stretched-out moments, and Sam looks away. He thinks about telling his brother he’s tired and closing the door and trying to forget about all of this, but Dean speaks up again before he gets the chance.

“You- your arm.” And he sounds tentative, like he’s not allowed to do this anymore, and Sam can’t decide how true that is. Not when everything is so fresh. “Is it-?”

“It’s fine.” Sam thinks he should ditch the sling, if only to make Dean stop sounding so guilty about something that wasn’t his fault in the first place. He lets out a harsh breath before continuing, words almost tripping over themselves in his haste. “Look, should- should we talk about this, or-?”

But Dean’s already fumbling to cut him off, and yeah, Sam figured as much. Too soon. “I- I just wanted to check on you, and- uh- make sure. You know.” Sam doesn’t. For a fleeting moment, Dean looks up again, and he lifts his hand like he’s going to try to touch Sam, but. But it’s an aborted movement and then he’s backing away into a sloppy retreat. “I’m gonna- I’ll just-”

“Sure.” And Sam nods, and he looks away, because maybe they’ll never get through this. Maybe this will be one of those things that just fades into the background because they can’t talk about something so painful, and maybe there’s not a damn thing he can do to fix that. He’s not going to try to drag Dean into a conversation that he isn’t ready to have. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be here.”

Dean nods, and then he’s leaving, walking a little too fast to seem natural as Sam watches him go. It’s not long before he turns a corner, headed in the direction of the kitchen, and Sam wonders how many drinks it’ll take before he’s as numb as he wants to be.

Slowly, Sam closes his door and returns to bed. There’s a million different kinds of exhaustion hanging over him, and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to try to fix Dean right now. Not this time.

Maybe they need some time apart, after all. Maybe that’s the only way to make things better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Two-Hundred Sixty-Nine: Make-Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Faster! Faster!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babies playing pretend.

“Faster! Faster!”

Sammy’s laughing, and Dean huffs out a breath as he speeds up to a light jog, holding his brother firmly in place on his shoulders as they make their way around the park. It’s a cool afternoon, but they’re bundled up cozy, and Sammy’s right at that age where nothing is as exciting to him as playing pretend. Today, he’s a brave prince, riding his mighty dragon steed into battle, and Dean’s been roped into participating. Not that he put up much resistance.

With a dramatic gasp, Sammy throws his arm out ahead of them, pointing. “There’s the castle! We gotta- gotta go there!” He pats Dean’s head excitedly. “Castle!”

“Castle,” Dean echoes, and he’s a little breathless, but Sammy’s cheering brings a smile to his face. He trots towards the tree his brother indicates, and he makes a bit of a show of it- holds Sammy in place with one hand and spreads his other arm out wide, pretending like he’s flapping his wings. He probably looks stupid, and there are other people in the park who might think he’s too old for this kind of thing, but-

They reach the tree, and Dean slows down in time for Sammy to start patting his head again. They don’t really have a signal for “stop”, but Dean does his best to interpret whatever comes his way. “Down,” Sammy commands, and Dean bites back another smile, moving down to his knees before reaching up and lifting his brother by the armpits so he can set him down on his feet. Sammy sorts himself out, then looks at Dean with a furrowed brow, faux-serious. “We did it! We- we beat the evil.”

Dean nods sagely. “We did,” he agrees, because according to Sammy, dragons are allowed to talk sometimes. “Good job, your highness.”

Sammy’s expression breaks all at once, and then he’s grinning, throwing himself into Dean’s arms and suddenly full of giggles. “You’re the bestest dragon ever!” he declares, and Dean figures that’s a pretty good title. “Can- can we play again tomorrow?”

Dean hugs his little brother tight, and he thinks, briefly, about the way people might look at him if they see him goofing around with a little kid.

Most of his focus goes, instead, to how good it feels to make Sammy happy.

“Of course, Sammy,” he promises, and he smiles when Sammy laughs again. “Whenever you want.”

He’s a dragon on the way back home, because princes can’t walk all that way by themselves on their little royal feet. He thinks he’s okay with that. The warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with Sammy’s laughter makes the effort more than worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Two-Hundred Seventy: Reservations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s got the whole day planned out a week in advance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Stanford and just. An ouch.

Dean’s got the whole day planned out a week in advance. Movie tickets, a dinner reservation, a walk out to a good stargazing spot. He rarely goes to these kinds of lengths just to spend time with his brother- no matter how their relationship has evolved over the years- but something has shifted recently, and he can’t quite put his finger on it. Sam’s been distant, he’s been snappy, his fights with Dad have gotten more frequent and more violent; it’s worrying and it’s scary and Dean’s been struggling to fix it. He figures maybe some time alone will give them a chance to talk, and that maybe they’ll clear the air. If absolutely nothing else, maybe it’ll put Sam in a better mood.

Admittedly, Dean’s also looking forward to having a proper date night. It feels like it’s been ages since they’ve done anything together like this, and he misses Sam. Misses him a million different ways. With any luck, this will be at least the first part of a solution.

It might’ve worked, too, if Sam had been willing to go along with the whole thing.

“I’m busy,” he says dismissively when Dean proposes the whole thing a couple days in advance. Sam hadn’t even looked up past a cursory glance to acknowledge Dean’s presence, eyes fixed on a book he’s reading for school. He’s been taking senior year pretty seriously. “I’ve got a test next week. I have to study.”

It’s far from the response that Dean’s expecting, and for a moment, he just stares. Tries again. “It’s just the one night. And I’ll help you study on Sunday. Quiz you and stuff, yeah?”

But still, Sam shakes his head. Is he even listening? “Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound like he means it even one bit, and it’s the last of this that Dean can take.

Maybe it’s because of the tension that’s been mounting for weeks, or the strain of playing the mediator between the two most important people in his life. Maybe it’s all the effort he’s put in trying to fix whatever’s going on between them, or maybe the fact that he can feel Sam slipping away from him, slowly but surely.

Maybe it’s that Sam’s eyes are still fixed on the book, entirely unconcerned with the whole affair.

“Do you even care?” The words slip out, unbidden, but as soon as they’re there, Dean can’t take them back. He can’t stop, either. “About- about this?” Gestures between them like there’s some tangible thing that bonds them; something he’s felt every single day since Sam was born. Something that maybe doesn’t matter to Sam anymore the same way it matters to Dean.

Whatever the case, the accusation does the trick. Sam looks up, and there’s a furrow in his brow like he’s thinking. Like he’s confused. “What?”

And Dean stares again, because- “Seriously? You don’t even-” And maybe Sam genuinely doesn’t see the way things have changed the way that Dean does. Maybe he’s too busy. Maybe he doesn’t care. “You barely talk to me anymore. Half the time, it’s just when I step between you and Dad screaming at each other.”

Sam frowns. Sets down his book real slow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yeah. Yeah, that just makes it all worse. Bending over backwards trying to make things better and Sam doesn’t know what he’s doing. “You’re too busy studying to spend a couple hours with me,” Dean says plainly. “Just like you’ve been too busy to give me the time of day for- for months.”

“I’ve got school,” Sam insists, and he’s sitting up now, getting more engaged. It’s what Dean wants, but he also hates it. “And I have to study. If I don’t get high enough grades-” Except then he cuts himself off, and there’s something heavy and unspoken that Dean doesn’t dare to touch. “I need to. It’s important.”

“It’s not the only important thing!” Dean knows he’s getting too worked up about this too quickly, but he’s been sitting on these feelings for a small eternity; he misses Sam desperately, and the thought that Sam can’t be bothered hits too close to home. He knows it’s stupid to believe something like that, but every time Sam chooses something or someone else, it’s validated further. “I- fuck. Why can’t you think about somebody else for once?”

It must be the wrong thing to say. Sam stands up all at once, and he’s tall now, taller than he used to be, almost bigger than Dean. And he’s angry, suddenly. All that bottled-up emotion he usually saves to fire in Dad’s direction comes out like a cannonball. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I need you to pay some goddamn attention to me once in a blue moon,” Dean snaps. They’re feeding off of each other now. They don’t fight often, but when they do, it gets ugly fast. “Sorry I’m not as interesting as fucking calculus, but at least say it to my face.”

“All I do is think about this family!” Sam’s trembling, physicality bringing the frustration to the surface. “I hate living like this, Dean! I just want to do something normal for once. Why can’t you understand that?”

That takes the breath right out of Dean, maybe for the reminder of how abnormal everything about this is. How many people plan a date night with their little brother? He fumbles for a response, thrown. “This- this is just how it is. You know that. We can’t just-”

“Forget it.” And just like that, Sam’s reached his breaking point, storming right past Dean with a knock of shoulders and a cold air about him. Dean turns to watch him go, dumbfounded. “Don’t wait up for me.”

And he’s gone. Dean’s left staring at the door, an ache slowly spreading in his chest as he realizes all at once just how far he’s let this go. Maybe it’s too late to fix whatever scraps of a relationship he’s still holding onto. If Sam’s not willing, he doesn’t think it’s possible to save.

He goes to bed alone that night. He doesn’t see Sam until the next day, and they don’t talk.

He never does cancel the dinner reservation. He doesn’t like the finality that comes with that particular kind of phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Two-Hundred Seventy-One: Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Sam’s breathing that wakes Dean up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More nightmares with a small side of brother-touching.

It’s Sam’s breathing that wakes Dean up. He thinks so, anyways; it’s the only abnormality he immediately detects in the room, and he’s quick to hone in on it, slipping out of bed to pad over towards his brother. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s the dead of night, and the silence around them echoes it; it’s only the little hitches and gasps coming from the other bed that stand out against the quiet scene.

Dean doesn’t hesitate to crawl into bed alongside his brother, familiar with this sort of situation. When Sam gets nightmares, Dean usually tries to wake him from him, knowing from personal experience that it’s worse to see them through to the end. So he shuffles in close and he gathers Sam up in his arms and he talks to him, low and quiet. Doesn’t want him to come up swinging. “S'okay, Sammy. Wake up for me, hey? Open your eyes. Just a dream, kiddo.”

It takes a few minutes, but then all at once, Sam gasps into consciousness, fumbling for a grip on something and ending up with a fistful of Dean’s shirt. Dean just shushes him, lets him calm himself, keeps holding him. Sam’s not struggling, so he doesn’t see any sense in letting go. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

Already, he can feel Sam relaxing. Slowly, but surely, he’s coming back to the real world, leaving whatever darkness exists in his mind where it belongs: anywhere else. “I- yeah. Was I-?”

“Yeah.” Dean hums, shuffling the two of them around until he can press his forehead to Sam’s. It’s a safe position for them, a quiet way to ground themselves, and Sam melts into it, easy as anything. “Wanna talk about it?”

He always asks, and it’s always uncertain what kind of response he’ll get from Sam. Tonight, it’s a minute shake of the head. Maybe a bad one, then. “Can- um- can we just-?”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Dean nods. Settles down a little deeper into Sam’s bed and wraps his arms firmly around his little brother. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Both of them quiet down, and Sam rests his head on Dean’s chest. Dean closes his eyes and mostly just listens to Sam’s breathing, searching for the telltale pattern that comes with Sam falling back to sleep. Until then, he’ll stay awake and make sure his brother doesn’t need to be alone after his dream. He knows what that’s like.

“Dean?” Sam asks into the darkness a few minutes later, and Dean hums. “Thanks.”

Dean brushes a kiss against the top of Sam’s head and pulls him closer. “‘Course.”

Sam’s asleep in minutes, and Dean’s not far behind. Neither of them dream this time, and they wake up tangled together.

It’s kind of how Dean prefers things, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Two-Hundred Seventy-Two: Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s chaos, at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little thing with Dean and Michael.

There’s chaos, at first. A miniscule struggle for power that lasts the span of a nanosecond; two beings growing accustomed to sharing the same physical space. It’s messy and it’s unstable, and then that single heartbeat passes and everything stops.

Peace. This is what is feels like to finally become whole.

Dean fights to keep hold of the goals he has in mind. He needs to chase after Lucifer, to rescue his brother, but this- this feeling is overwhelming. It’s difficult even to cling to his sense of self; every single aspect of his being longs to give in. To become one with the divine presence that now runs through his veins; to accept the fate ordained for him at the very beginning of time. To be the sword.

He can feel Michael, too. In every part of his body; in every drop of blood that passes through his heart. He is everything and he is everywhere, a presence that threatens to consume him as much as it welcomes him; invites him to lose himself in this feeling of completion.

Sam. He needs to go to Sam.

A voice whispers, cruel and tempting. Michael’s or his own, it’s impossible to say.  _You don’t need him anymore. You’ll never need anything ever again._

He forces it aside and fixes his sight on the mission at hand. He doesn’t allow himself to get lost in the perfection that is this unity.

Not yet, at least. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. Two-Hundred Seventy-Three: Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The passage of time is all but meaningless to Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Michael!Dean.

The passage of time is all but meaningless to Michael. A single rotation of the Earth around the Sun is an infinitesimal fraction of the totality of his existence, absolutely nothing in the face of its significance to humankind. Nevertheless, the days do pass him by, wearing this new skin, and as they do, he can feel the changes that come along with it.

Dean Winchester was right. Just as it had been foretold since the beginning of time, he was, indeed, Michael’s perfect vessel. His sword. Born for the purpose of housing one of God’s most powerful creations, and now that their unity has come to pass, and now that Michael has been presented with a whole new world for the taking- he feels, in a way, at peace. The most troubling part of his existence at this point is also the source of his liberty.

Dean, as it turns out, does not go down easy. Even after Michael snatches control of the vessel, after he leaves his brother’s body and the nephilim and Sam Winchester behind, Dean continues to fight. He’s a constant presence in Michael’s head, a voice shouting all manner of obscenities at him, a pesky little bit of free will that fights him every step of the way towards taking over this world. And Michael makes due- he manages, with time, to mostly tune Dean out, or else to let Dean become a part of his greater being- but something still feels wrong. Something sits funny, leaving him unsettled about the whole issue. He doesn’t understand the cause of this distress until Dean’s brother finally catches up with them.

Sam, for the most part, has not crossed Michael’s mind since he took Dean to begin with. Lucifer’s intended vessel; rendered useless now that he’s dead. A pest, perhaps, seeking to get his brother back, but not once has Michael thought to consider him a threat. Certainly not someone worthy of even a passing thought.

It’s nighttime, and it’s raining, and they meet out behind a neon-lit gas station. How Sam has found him, Michael does not know, though he suspects the Winchesters’ pet angel might have something to do with it. Castiel, for his part, is nowhere to be seen. Neither is the young nephilim. It’s only Sam here, chest heaving, shouting at him. Desperate. Messy.

“Dean! Dean, I know you’re in there, you just- you have to fight it. Fight him. Please!”

And Michael can feel the way that Dean responds to his brother’s voice, the renewed vigour with which he throws himself at Michael. Not that it’s of any use, but his effort is admirable. Michael’s attention remains mostly on Sam, wondering idly if it might be worth the effort to crush him, here and now. It would certainly put the last of the fight out of Dean. Maybe it would even be fun, feeling him fade away.

So Michael lifts his hand, and he sees the way Sam’s body tenses, and he prepares to snap this pesky human out of existence, but.

But.

He has no name for the feeling that curls around his being, tight and urgent. No words that describe the utterly overwhelming sense of despair that briefly threatens to choke him; human emotion is unfamiliar to him, and even Dean’s expression of it always comes at a distance. Something to be observed, not properly experienced.

Maybe he’s gotten sloppy. Maybe the two of them have blended too closely.

Sam hasn’t moved, and Michael’s hand remains raised. It would be so easy to end this, but something stops him. Something that forces him to feel this, to look at the creature standing in front of him and feel- pity? Sadness? Fear?

Maybe, in another world, Michael could’ve loved his brother the same way that Dean loves Sam. Maybe that’s what grips him, in this moment. A fleeting sense of what could have been.

“Dean?” Sam asks cautiously, and he takes a tiny step forward. Hopeful, maybe, that his brother has broken through. Michael almost scoffs at the thought. “Are you-?”

Michael drops his hand and turns away.

“Don’t follow me,” he says shortly, and with a thought, they’re gone. Dean shouts his fury and frustration, and Michael ignores him; pretends that this human weakness hasn’t started to seep into his grace. That he hasn’t been tainted by whatever twisted thing keeps his father’s favourite creations so desperately tied to one another.

Sam Winchester will live another day for this moment of uncertainty, but Michael pushes past it, determined to forget. He refuses to let this slow him down on his mission, no matter how hopelessly intertwined he and Dean seem to have become. No matter how hard it will be to eliminate his vessel’s brother, should they come face-to-face again.

“Don’t touch him,” Dean says viciously, somewhere inside. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”

Michael pays him no mind and continues on his way. This kind of annoyance, he believes, is always better off ignored.

Better that he move on with his domination of this planet than linger on a confusing moment of hesitation. He can’t afford to have these kinds of doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
